


I Wanna Be Your Endgame

by wherehopelies



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherehopelies/pseuds/wherehopelies
Summary: steca minifics courtesy of tumblr





	1. Walk of Fame

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a lone woman in dark clothes and with clearly tousled hair, in an elevator at 7am on a Saturday, must be in need of an aspirin.

Having experienced the situation before, Stacie Conrad is all too happy to a help a girl out.

After digging in her purse, she brandishes a pill bottle in the direction of the girl sharing her elevator. “Aspirin?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow.

The girl eyes the bottle warily, but takes it nonetheless. “Thanks.” She pops a pill and gives the bottle back.

“Mhmm,” Stacie hums. “So, walk of shame or walk of fame?”

The girl, in a dark leather jacket over a soft gray shirt and a pair of skinny jeans, shifts. But Stacie knows how _she_ looks, in her tight dress and her high heels. They’re in the same boat.

“Fame,” the girl says after a moment, although her cheeks tinge just the slightest bit pink. “But she’s not the type to eat breakfast with.” Then she eyes Stacie up and down. “You?”

“Oh, fame, always.” Stacie laughs a little, making eye contact with the girl as the elevator dings in the lobby of the apartment building they’re both fleeing. The girl has nice eyes, a bright and calming blue under her dark, smudged makeup. “What about me then?”

They step out of the elevator and the girl shoots her a confused look. “What about you?”

“Am I the type to have breakfast with?” Stacie gives her best smile, flirtatious and fun.

The girl glances away, her eyebrows shooting up incredulously. She lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Uh, I don’t know. I don’t like, know you, dude.”

Stacie thinks this girl is adorable - badass and cute in the all the right ways - and she smirks. “Do you want to?”

And the girl snorts, like literally snorts. “What is this? A bad rom-com?”

“I’m not really a movie girl, myself,” Stacie shrugs.

“Oh,” the girl frowns. “Me neither.”

“I’m Stacie.”

The girl’s eyes trail down her body once, then back up to her eyes. She tilts her head to the side and, slowly, like the sun peeking over the horizon, smiles. “You’re buying me breakfast then, Stacie.”

Stacie beams.

//

Her name is Beca. She’s a music producer and she drinks her coffee with like, twelve sugars, and she eats her entire side of hashbrowns plus half of Stacie’s.

She fiddles with everything in reach and slumps in her seat and puts her Converse up on the booth next to Stacie.

Stacie is immediately obsessed with her.

She listens to Stacie talk about her job at UCLA with interest, and wears the cutest smirk when Stacie tells her how she’s aware her students have nicknamed her Professor Boobs and she’s cool with it because like, duh, look at her tits, they’re amazing.

Beca bites her lip at that and glances out the diner window into the LA sunshine and Stacie’s thinking the girl can get it. The collar of her leather jacket hangs arounds her and Stacie keeps accidentally imagining what it’d be like to pull it back and put her lips there instead.

Sometimes Beca raises an eyebrow at her like she knows what Stacie’s thinking and that’s just fine, because she’s pretty sure Beca’s reading her vibes and feeling them, too.

The girl doesn’t say much, but she seems comfortable with their moments of silence, tapping her spoon on the table and her foot against Stacie’s thigh.

“Come back to my place?” Stacie says after she hands the waitress her credit card. “I’ll make you another cup of coffee and you can show me some of the people you’ve worked with.”

“You definitely don’t want to see them, trust me,” Beca scoffs, but then she grins, and a few minutes later they’re heading back to Stacie’s apartment and Beca’s hand keeps brushing hers in the Uber and Stacie’s heart is vibrating at a much higher frequency than usual.

//

They actually really do end up having another coffee and Beca pulls some of the acts she’s produced up on YouTube and they spend an hour laughing at some asshat named Pimp-Lo.

Then that leads to Stacie showing her the worst rap music video she’s ever seen and Beca showing her a bad Vine compilation and then somehow they’re watching cooking fails and it’s 3pm and they’ve just been chilling.

The afternoon light is flush and natural in Stacie’s apartment and she finds herself staring as Beca scowls at some moron in a YouTube video.

“What?” Beca asks, glancing over at her. “You _said_ I got all the smudged makeup off.”

“You did,” Stacie laughs. “I was just admiring the view.”

Beca rolls her eyes at that and Stacie loves it. She wants to make Beca roll her eyes with cheesy lines and puns and stupid shit a million times over. “Do people tell you that you have game? Every line you have is like out of some 90s teen movie.”

“You’re still here aren’t you?” She smirks when Beca gives a noncommittal shrug, her eyes roaming down to Stacie’s lips.

Beca’s tongue peeks out to wet at her lips, and then she rolls her eyes again and leans forward until she’s all up in Stacie’s space, bad YouTube videos forgotten.

//

They make out on the couch for what feels like hours, lazy and soft, then sloppy and quick.

Stacie’s caught in some kind of limbo between wanting more and not wanting to leave this moment, like, ever.

But then Beca’s stomach is growling and Stacie’s laughing against her lips and they’re looking through takeout menus and eating in, sharing egg rolls and cracking open fortune cookies.

“You didn’t!”

Beca nods. “I did. And I was the captain.”

“Oh my God,” Stacie laughs.

“Hey we were good,” Beca defends. “We performed for Obama on his birthday.”

“That’s hot.”

Beca snorts. “It wasn’t actually. It was a national disgrace because one girl accidentally flashed him. It was like, all over the news.”

“Shut up.”

“Truth.”

Stacie’s abs ache with laughter. Beca seems much too pleased with herself, grinning and tapping her fingers against her opposite palm. Stacie wants to look at her and never stop. She reaches out to play with Beca’s hair, curling the wavy strands between her fingers.

Beca’s gaze meets hers and it’s electrifying. If Stacie didn’t know the science behind it, she’d say she felt their connection on a cellular level, like this moment was mapped into their DNA.

Of course, that’s not how it works, it wouldn’t even be possible, but when Beca’s head hits the pillow and Stacie’s crawling up her body and sliding off her underwear, feeling want and need in every atom of who she is, she’d say she’s not one to deny that attraction doesn’t always make scientific sense.

//

The clock reads 10am and Stacie has been awake now for some time. She’s been grading exams in bed, one hand fiddling with a pen, the other absentmindedly rubbing slow circles on a bare arm.

There is no rush, no headache, just the soft morning sun and the slow breathing of a sleeping girl.

Under Stacie’s fingers, the arm shifts, and the sleeping girl rolls over with a muted groan.

Stacie tears her eyes away from her exams. “Morning,” she says softly.

Beca blinks up at her, one eye closed and the other squinting. Her entire face is twisted and grumpy, like she was pulled from a very deep sleep she had no intention of leaving. “Mmph,” she grunts.

“It’s ten,” Stacie informs her, and she’s thinking of how they met just the day before at 7am in an elevator after a couple of one night stands. It seems an impossible lifetime ago.

Beca grunts again and slumps back into her pillow, her hair falling down her bare back. Stacie yearns to place her hand between Beca’s shoulder blades, flat and gentle, just to feel that she’s really there.

“You want breakfast, then?” She asks, nervous in a way she doesn’t get, like, ever.

Beca manages a smile, hiding it into her pillow, and Stacie’s heart flips. “Yeah, alright,” she rasps, voice thick with sleep. “But you’re paying.”

Stacie’s thinks she’d pay for breakfast every morning if it meant she’d wake up to Beca in her bed.

She doesn’t say that, though. Instead she makes coffee and dumps twelve sugars in Beca’s mug and hopes that Beca will stay.

//

Beca does.


	2. Maisie Elizabeth Margaret Wellington IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHLOEBEALE INQUIRED: steca + "i'm too sober for this" and "welcome to fatherhood!"

“Welcome to fatherhood!” Stacie beams at her and deposits a fake baby in her arms.

Beca blinks. “Sorry,  _what_?”

“Beca, I  _told_  you our Teen Challenges baby project starts today.” Stacie crosses her arms. “I’m the mom, remember? Mrs. Phipps demands we take these heteronormative awful rules, so. We discussed this.”

“Right.” Beca holds the plastic baby by its arm, letting it dangle in front of her. “So, umm. What do we do with it?”

Stacie scoffs and snatches the baby back. “Okay, first of all, our baby is a  _girl_  and her name is Maisie Elizabeth Margaret Wellington the Fourth. Secondly, you can _not_  hold Maisie Elizabeth by her arm!”

Beca frowns. “Why does she have so many names?”

Stacie pinches her nose in exasperation. “Beca, we talked about this over the weekend? Don’t you remember?”

“Uh. When we were in your basement and had those shitty Rolling Rocks?”

“Yes! We planned the whole thing!”

“I was drunk, dude?”

Stacie sighs and gently hands Maisie whatever back to her. Then she opens her huge ass backpack and pulls out a very large binder. She holds it in front of Beca’s nose.

“You forgot literally this whole binder worth of plans?”

Beca shrugs, but then her mouth opens in her horror when the fake baby  _actually starts crying_. “AH it  _cries_? Why is it crying? Oh my God dude, what the fuck, make it stop!”

Stacie smirks. “Yes,  _Beca_ , it cries. And it is a simulation baby. It has a recorder in there so don’t curse at it or Phipps will fail us and I swear to God if you make me fail and I lose my valedictorian candidacy I will end you.”

This is probably the worst day of Beca’s life. “So how do I make it stop?” She frantically pats the baby on the back harder than necessary. But like, what the fuck? She doesn’t know how to hold a baby. She’s sixteen!

“It’s in the binder.” Stacie takes the baby in one arm and hands off the binder to Beca. She rocks back and forth with the fake baby and it stops crying. Beca just stares incredulously.

“Go over the binder, okay? Then come over to my house. You’re supposed to spend the night, we already set it up with our parents.”

Beca briefly looks up from the binder to shoot Stacie a grin. “A sleepover?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

Stacie glares at her. “The only time sex will not get in my way is when it’s competing with my valedictorian candidacy, so forget it, B.” Beca pouts. Stacie rolls her eyes. “Read. The. Binder. I will test you when you come over. We have to get an A. This project is worth like, half our grade.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Beca mutters. “I’m so not drunk enough for this.”

“DO NOT TALK ABOUT UNDERAGE DRINKING IN FRONT OF MAISIE ELIZABETH MARGARET WELLINGTON THE FOURTH!”

Beca sighs. It’s going to be a long - she looks at the color-coded timeline in the front of the binder - four days.


	3. Magnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is just lowkey smut. i listened to disclosure/lorde's "magnets" and got a feeling

Summer sweat slips down Stacie’s lower back and the lights pulse to the thump of her heart, the beat of the bass. She’s caught in a crowd, a free-falling mass of drunken freedom.

He’s talking to her, some dude in a V-neck, managing to yell over the ear-splitting music of the club. He’s cute - in that overly cocky way of all the boys she nails and bails - but she’s not really looking at his face. Her fingers grip the bar, waiting for the bartender to deliver her too-expensive shot that she’ll get V-neck to pay for.

He’s got his hand on her hip and that’s alright. She’ll leave with him later and his hands will be other places, and in the morning, she’ll have forgotten - or at least pretend to have forgotten - his name.

Her eyes scan the mass of bodies moving together, an artform Stacie lives inside. The summer is just beginning and every pulsation of light and bass catalyzes the promise of a good time. No homework, no responsibilities - just Stacie and clubs like this until September.

He’s still talking - about what, she honestly has no idea - when Stacie sees _her_ through hooded eyes. If she was listening before, she isn’t now. A good amount of alcohol has slithered into her bloodstream, making everything hazy and soft. She blinks, focusing through lidded eyes and neon light.

She’s immediately drawn to the smaller of the girls, but there are two of them, and watching them dance sends Stacie into a trance. The lights flash on the smaller one’s face, purple blue red and back again, until she leans her forehead against the other one’s. They’re magnetic, polarized and beautiful, together and apart.

The taller one - she’s leading - says something in the other’s ear, causing the smaller one to smirk. It boomerangs its way into Stacie’s stomach, slipping between her rib cage and mixing heat and booze and the residual arousal that’s always simmering in her atoms.

That girl, Stacie thinks, that girl can get it in every way possible.

The taller one seems to know it too, tugs at the girl’s waist possessively. Stacie wonders if they’re together, or if like her, they’re just girls in a club looking for a good night.

He’s still talking, either not noticing that Stacie’s taken a mental train somewhere else or not caring. They’re just two bodies that want the same thing. They’re not here to make friends.

Her shot finally lands in front of her and she takes her eyes off the dancing girls for the shortest of seconds so she can empty it down her throat. When she looks back, they’re gone.

She peers through the neon dark and heavy lids, searching, but she doesn’t see them. Maybe they left, to the bathroom, to a place more private. And then a warm body is sliding on her other side, an arm against her own.

He’s still talking, but Stacie forgets it all. She turns her back on him.

“Hey,” she yells over the music.

“Hey,” the girl yells back. Her brown hair sticks to her forehead, damp with sweat. Black eyeliner smudges the edge of her eyelids. Her lopsided smirk stumbles its way to Stacie’s abdomen. “You know what’s good here?”

“That special is good, but only if someone else pays for it.” Stacie nods her head at the cards on the bar advertising some vodka cranberry orange explosion drink that costs, like fourteen dollars. V-neck bought her one earlier. “Can’t go wrong with tequila, though.”

The girl nods and flags down the bartender. “Shot of tequila, my man.” Then she looks back at Stacie, her eyes trailing down, down, down.

Stacie smirks. “That girl,” she says, leaning closer. “She your girlfriend?”

The girl raises her eyebrows. “What girl?”

“The one you’ve been dancing with.”

“You been, like, watching me?”

“Hard not to.” Stacie grins when the girl rolls her eyes. “So is she?”

The girl shakes her head. “Chloe? Nah.” She says it like it’s not the whole story, but it’s not a lie either. She points over her shoulder and Stacie cranes her neck to peer around her. “We’re here with our friends. That screaming group over there.”

Stacie drags her finger over the girl's wrist. “Does that mean you’d be able to bail, then?”

“Bail?” The girl taps her fingers on the bar restlessly. “With you, you mean?”

“Sure,” Stacie says. “I mean, I’m hot. You’re hot. I’m drunk. You’re drunk. Let’s let this ball roll. Whaddya say?”

The girl smiles incredulously, like Stacie’s a bit out of her mind. “What about that guy?”

“He’s gone,” Stacie shrugs. She doesn’t have to turn back around to know he’s moved on.

The bartender places the girl’s shot in front of her and she picks it up, rolling the glass between her fingers minutely. She stares at Stacie for a lifetime of a second. Then she throws her shot back and squeezes her lime into her mouth. The shot glass hits the bar with a muted _thunk_.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s go then.”

//

“What’s your name?” Stacie asks. She’s got the girl against the side of the bathroom stall, lips pressed to her neck, fingers down the front of her skinny jeans.

“Beca,” the girl pants. “You?”

“Stacie.”

Beca nods, barely, as Stacie bites down lightly. “Fu - Cool.”

“Mhmm,” Stacie hums, pressing her fingers up against Beca and getting a gasp in return. Stacie’s always been a bit of a tease, but that sound is intoxicating in her ear and she feels her own wetness bloom between her legs. She twists her wrist and pushes inside Beca, relishing the soft hiss of breath against her skin. “You like it slow or fast?” She asks, smirking when Beca’s head falls back against the side of the stall.

Beca’s blue eyes barely shine through hooded lids, but Stacie feels their heat all the way through her body. “Right now? Fast.”

Stacie slows her fingers, laughing when Beca grits her teeth. “Kidding.” She curls inside Beca, picking up the pace again.

With her arm between them, it’s a bad angle for kissing, but Stacie doesn’t mind. She braces her other hand beside Beca’s head and enjoys the view. Beca lolls her neck to the side, into Stacie’s wrist, panting.

“Do you -- ” Beca exhales sharply through her nose, her legs trembling. “Do you do this a lot?”

“Oh, sometimes,” Stacie muses. She quirks her wrist as Beca’s thighs squeeze tighter. “Not usually with someone as hot as you, though.”

Beca snorts, but it turns into an embarrassing sounding wheeze when Stacie curls over a certain spot. “Fu - uck me.”

“Your asthmatic wish is my command,” Stacie laughs, loving how Beca tries to glare at her, how it has no bite because she’s suddenly clenching her eyes shut. She eases on her tiptoes for the slightest moment, then falls back down on Stacie’s fingers.

Beca’s fingers grip at her shoulder and it hurts in the best of ways, tight and thoughtless because her attention’s elsewhere. Stacie watches as Beca lets go, knows the moment it happens by the sudden wrenching of her fingers against Stacie’s skin, the firm grasp Beca’s thighs have on her wrist.

And then Beca’s opening her eyes, unclenching her legs, loosening her fingers.

Stacie pulls her hand out of Beca’s underwear.

Beca clears her throat and zips up her jeans. “Wow, okay.” She tries to blow her hair out of her face, but it’s damp with sweat. Stacie chuckles and uses her clean hand to brush it away.

“Just okay?”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Don’t even.” She gestures between them. “So should I…?”

“Nah,” Stacie winks. “Your pleasure is my pleasure.” She lets her hand fall against Beca’s neck and leans down close to her ear. “As long as I have your permission to touch myself to this memory later.”

Beca snorts, but her cheeks pink ever so slightly. “Yeah, uh, whatever, dude. That’s your, uh, your business.”

“Great. Then I’ll see you around?” Stacie presses a lingering kiss on Beca’s lips and unlocks the stall door. She waggles her fingers over her shoulder as she steps outside and sees the short but impatient line of girls waiting for the single stall bathroom.

“Yeah,” Stacie says to the first girl in line. “You’ll need to wait a minute. She’s gonna need a sec for recovery.” The girl grimaces and Stacie shrugs.

She steps back into the swirling dark of the club, but her mind’s still in the bathroom with a girl wearing the hottest pair of skinny jeans and the world’s most intoxicating smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik that if i say that i saw this ending further along in the story then you will demand pt2 but i gotta ride that inspiration wave to a good stopping place or the fics never get posted. so will there be a pt2???? perhaps. i mean maybe. like, probably not. but you know. 
> 
> emilyjunk.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> hmu emilyjunk.tumblr.com


End file.
